Selfish
by GretaPrewett
Summary: It's nice to see a familiar face again. Except when it's not. Beckett confronts Castle on why he gave up. Spoilers for 47 Seconds and the Limey.


**Disclaimer: Don't own it. **

**Author's note: I'm so rusty at this, but the characters of this show have captured me and they beckoned me to write about them, so I just had to. I haven't written in a reaaaaally long time, so tell me what you think. About the premise? Well, after watching the last couple of episodes against public opinion I though it natural for Castle to act as he does, and then when imagining a confrontation I thought it also natural for him to deny it. So, here it is...**

When he plops himself down on the chair next to her desk, she has no idea who she's looking at. Basically, she has no idea about anything at the moment. Her mind is reeling with a jumble of words; Lanie's, Esposito's her own, his.

Yes, she wanted to tell him how she felt even though she could barely admit it to herself. It was time. Finally, she had reached the place, where even if she couldn't quite let go of her mother's case, she could at least accept her feelings for Castle. She could finally trust him with her feelings and superimpose his now more mature image over the playboy one, she had established in her mind for him when she first met him. She could do it.

Or she could have done it. Before.

These past few weeks marked the return of what she endearingly referred to as Jackass Castle in her mind. The car, the devil-may-care attitude, the flight attendants. All of it. Standard Jackass Castle Procedure. Maybe she should abbreviate it: SJCP.

But she knew him. She thought she knew him quite well actually, and this was not who he was. Those little barbs confirmed that, and somehow, even though it took her a bit to catch on to them and combine it with his recent jackass behavior, she'd finally known something was wrong. A little conversation with the boys had confirmed it. She had traced his change of behavior back before his weekend at Vegas, and to the Boylan Plaza case.

The boys, and specifically Esposito, had filled in the details of what had happened. And then she had remembered how she had gotten that suspect to spill. Her little trick, the ace up her sleeve which she had thought as such a useful approach at the time, such a powerful interrogation weapon. Which had then backfired at her.

Now, looking back at him across her desk, noticing the dark circles under his eyes – no doubt from a night's worth of partying…or worse– his wrinkled purple shirt and slight smell of cigarette smoke and perfume wafting from opposite her, she wanted to scream.

"When did you take up smoking?" is the first thing coming out of her mouth.

"Oh! Sorry. Long night," is all the reply he gives her. Not _'No I'm still not smoking'_, not _'oh, we had a couple of cigars at the poker game_' and definitely not _'there was a benefit for orphans I went with Alexis and had an early night after mingling'_. No information essentially. Does she deserve it? Maybe. This isn't the point. She does scream in her head now.

"I bet," she's saying that a lot recently, isn't she? But, yeah at this point she doesn't care that her tone might sound catty. They're past that. They're past many things.

"So? Anything new around here? Why did you call me down?" His breezy reply is getting even more on her nerves.

Taking a deep breath, she maintains her poker face and looks back at him stoically. A moment passes, and then several more. He looks back at her, empty smile in place, as it has been so many days lately. Then she sees it: the look that made her think back and then realize what's between them now. The flash of anger, so much anger, that she didn't know he was capable of. In the back of her head a small voice pipes out that it's a good look for him, and he looks so male, instead of a small child in a man's body. But it's him, his childish side she loves, not this angry man in front of her. She hates that look.

"Is this a bachelor party thing?" she asks, finally beginning a conversation she has no idea how to handle. Yes, it's big and yes, terrifying, but she has faith in them. They will get through this when she understands why he's running away.

"No, actually it was a club opening downtown. Very wild night, let's just leave it at that," is his unhelpful reply, accompanied by that disgusting breezy smile, that superficial wink and that whole "Yeah, you know what I mean" attitude.

"No, I mean _this,_ Castle," she gestures with her hand, encompassing his body, draped over the chair, "This behavior, this whole party _phase_…is it one?" She can't show how difficult it is for her to find words for this. To let herself express in words and with her tone everything she can't yet say. He's the guy. He was supposed to …okay he did. Right, her turn.

And it looks like it's her turn. His eyes fire up, but otherwise his face remains jovial, superficially relaxed. "You _must_ be joking, right?"

"No, I'm not," she curtly replies.

"Oh, _yes_ you must because otherwise, Beckett this conversation is over."

"It damn well isn't and you know it. Why are you acting like this?" she hisses, mindful of the uniforms passing by her desk at the moment. Thankfully the desks around them are empty and the boys are out.

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just being me. Castle. Your goofy, handsome partner," He smiles winningly. Still empty.

"No, you're not," she hisses again, and the anger erupts in his eyes once more, overtaking his whole face this time.

"Sorry to disappoint then," he says in a low tone and shifts to stand up. Leave.

Before he can, she's standing as well, invading his personal space, arresting his eyes with hers. "Come with me. Now." Her voice as absolute as she can make it, the tone she usually uses with suspects.

She leads the way to the Box, knowing the precise instant he starts following her. She was ready to chase after him if he didn't.

Holding the door open for him to step in, she takes a second to look out at the bullpen and take a deep breath before she pushes the door shut with a low click. Now it's just them, now they can talk, and another talk after a book launch party seems a thousand years ago, not four.

He's sat on the chair when he turns, sprawled after a night of partying, his jaw unshaved like last time. Irreverent, like last time. But now, irreverent doesn't suit him. It seems wrong and it hurts on so many levels.

"If you had a fantasy about playing cops and robbers you should have said as much," he says, this recent unnerving façade in place again.

"Castle!"

"_What_?" A single word, a double-edged tone. All the anger is back.

"Talk to me," is all she can say, but she says it compellingly. Not pleading, not demanding. Maybe demanding.

"What do you want to know?" The last time he plays ignorant, she swears.

"_You know_ and that's how you decide we handle it? That's it? Let's pretend it never happened and go back four years?" As soon as she finishes her sentence though she can only see anger, anger and hurt in his eyes. This is going to be hell…

"We're so good at pretending, why stop now?" he mocks.

"Damn it, Castle!"

"_What_?" the double edged tone again. "What do you want, Detective. What do you want out of this interrogation?"

"I want you back." The words escape with conviction, and she tries to convey the deeper meaning with her eyes.

"You partner?"

"Yes."

"Not good enough."

She gets it now. He's said what he had to say on a sunny morning in a cemetery. And his words that she thought she was keeping so close to her heart, waiting to hear them again when the time was right, won't come from his mouth, unless she makes this right. She looks closely at him, and takes another step.

"My best friend."

"Never left." His eyes stray from hers, bleeding helplessness and self-depreciation. They fix on a point on the wall and a smile forms on his lips. Ironic and pitying. Towards him..self? _Oh!_

"Oh, no…" she turns to face the wall, so he can't see her troubled frown.

"What?" he asks, apprehensively.

Turning again, she walks to the table and perches herself on it facing him as he sits on the chair, her hands on either side of her body, holding her up for what she has to say. And conveniently place if she has to hold on to something so she can get the words out.

"You thought I didn't tell you because I wanted to pretend it didn't happen," she states quietly, not looking at him gearing up for the rest.

"Don't you?" comes his tired question and she knows that he thinks it's a rhetorical one. And then, before she can open her mouth to explain, "Kate, enough. Just…enough."

From the corner of her eye she sees him shifting to stand up, and in a flash her hand leaves its perch on the table and finds the center of his chest to push him back down. "No. Sit and listen and for once stop making up stories in your head," she orders him, now looking directly at him.

Instantly she sees him becoming lost. Trying to divine the meaning of her words, but the pause allows her time to gather her thoughts and let them, finally blessedly out. "You're making up stories that I didn't want to know, aren't you? That I never wanted to hear you say it, that I didn't wake up remembering those words every single day for almost a year, that when you walk in everyday I don't want to be able to say that instead of good morning. You're making stories up…"

His breathing is faster now looking at a point on the table somewhere in front of her, and she sees that she needs to say more.

"I needed to be me. Not someone drowning since her mother's death, not someone looking for answers that …don't exist anymore. I needed to be me when I told you, because I know what's at stake," she pauses, taking a deep breath and dropping her gaze to his shoulder, when he turns to look at her. She can do this, but only if it's not so close, if _he's _not so close. Not right now at least. "I am me now…but you started not being you," she finished lamely, and smiles sadly at how articulate she is in this.

She looks up at him again, but now he's the one looking away. "I'm not a mind reader, Kate. Remember in the summer? This is one of the things you should've said as well." He looks resigned and tired and she's terrified because he's not looking at her again. "I'm not a mind reader, and I'm not that nice or selfless enough, not anymore. I can't go on being here, the way I was before just…in limbo."

She moves then, and scoots so she can be sitting on the table directly in front of him. So she can reach with her hands and bring his face towards her, so she can lean down and catch his eyes and hold them in hers. "You can be selfish then, right? You can be selfish and possessive and demanding and when you are I can tell you that I love you and that I'm here. Always," she tries for steady but only manages a whisper for the last part, and she knows she's pleading, because if he can't understand when she's speaking that language of theirs from before – the hints, the hidden meanings- then she has to go all out, like she suspected she might have to. And everything's on the line now.

He knows that, and he looks back at her steadily. She doesn't flinch but watches. Watches as little by little the shadows lessen and some kind of determination replaces them. It scares her, because he's obviously resolving to walk out on her.

Or not. His eyes glance at his target an instant before he starts kissing her, and it's different from the warehouse because it's deep and intense but quick. He pulls back before she can let relief overtake her that they're okay. One of his hands is on her hip and the other on the back of her head, his eyes looking directly at her again. Too close…no, she's done looking away.

"I could kill you for doing this to us. Never again," he orders, and she's nodding trying not to let the hope inside her show in her face, because he has more to say. "I'll be selfish. Everyday. So find a way to appease me, because I won't be easy to deal with after all this." The twinkle is very slowly returning in her eyes, but something inside he is bristling. He's not finished yet though. "Say it."

His hand has tightened on her hip and there's pressure from his fingers on the nape of her neck. She can take it. For now. Actually, makes his lips look more appealing. "I love you."

She kisses him now, because really there's nothing else she can do when facing this side of him…any side of him. Their lips crash and meld and move against each other, his breath mingling with her and catching when she lightly bites his lower lip. He grunts and leans more while pulling her closer by the hip, but as she leans more into the kiss she breathes in the scent of Rick…and the precinct. She slows down, brushing her fingers where they rest on his cheek and on his jaw to slow him down too. One last soft kiss on his lower lip and then just a second to rub her cheek against his and then their noses. Her eyes won't open but she has to make them.

His hand is still on her hip his palm clenching and unclenching. She looks at him ready to explain why they stopped, but her mind won't form the words, or lose focus from the clenching on her hip. The sexiest thing she ever felt, not that she can think back on it. So she watches as he gets himself under control and that look she missed, that unconditional, silly, smiling look is back. She returns it.

Maybe a few moments, maybe several minutes later they come back to where they are, that mundane, real, everyday setting of the interrogation room, and while their soft smiles never slip from their faces, their hands fall from each other and they sit back. Still looking at each other, and she thinks that maybe in a minute this will become awkward when reality truly intervenes, but the minutes pass and it doesn't.

A knock from the other side of the glass makes them jump look at the mirror and then look back at each other. She knows she's frowning at the interruption, but she can't complain about work. That's Castle's thing, and that makes her smile at him again.

"I'll be selfish now you know," he quips, and it takes a second to make the connection in her dazed mind, but she does and then she waits for the punch line. He doesn't disappoint. "And you have to work really hard at it because now, Detective," he stands so dramatically, so Castle, and leans down, "You have to woo me."

With that he turns for the door and her quiet laugh is met with the smile she fell in love with when he opens the door for her.

**A.N. 2 : I'd welcome your thoughts on this. Oh, and this is not betaed so if you want to point out mistakes go on. This story just kinda popped out and wanted to be posted ASAP.**


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